


16 Shots

by IWriteSinsNotStraightLines



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Injuries, Alpha Derek Hale, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Mates, Minor Angst, Spark Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22865608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines/pseuds/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines
Summary: The five times Derek and Stiles were close because they were patching each other up, and the one time neither of them had to be injured for them to be together.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 48
Kudos: 597





	1. Life Gives You Lemons (At Least It Gave You Something)

**Author's Note:**

> Sup, everybody! I know it's been a hot minute since I last posted, but I hope this fic makes up for it :D  
> The work title is from the song "16 Shots" by Stefflon Don.  
> The chapter title is from "Break My Face" by AJR.  
> Shout out to my beta, Kay, for being my motivation for getting this done. Everybody can thank her for this actually being up and posted.  
> I really hope y'all enjoy!

Stiles pulled himself into sitting, leaning against the loft's door. 

His vision swam, and he stubbornly swallowed the bile that was threatening to rise into his throat. He slammed his head into the door, instantly regretting it as a wave of agony flooded his body. 

Stiles groaned, and hope that it- when combined with the thud and the scent of pain he was no doubt surrounded in- would attract someone’s attention. 

“Stiles?” 

He turned his head and squinted through his fuzzy vision. He smiled weakly as Derek’s worried face came into his line of sight, the wolf crouching down to his level. 

“ _Jesus_ , what happened?” 

“Not Jesus, just Stiles,” he slurred. 

Derek huffed, “I’m gonna get you into the loft, okay?” 

“Inside is good,” he replied. 

The alpha fitted an arm under his knees, and slid the other around his shoulders. He scooped up the other boy easily, jostling him a bit. 

Stiles whined as the motion sent black spots into his vision, dancing around in his sight. 

“I know, I’m sorry. Almost there, I promise,” Derek murmured gently. 

He set Stiles down on his bed-- or at least, what Stiles _assumed_ was his bed, as he hadn’t ever seen this part of the loft before. 

Stiles’ head lolled to the side, and he blinked blearily as he watched Derek gather the first aid kit. It suddenly hit him how gross he probably was: covered in blood, both his and the weird spider thing’s that attacked him, and dirt and sweat. 

He flopped his hand at the wolf’s shoulder when he got down next to him, only stopping when green eyes focused attentively on his face. 

“What, Stiles?” Derek asked, a concerned crease between his eyebrows. 

“You gotta move me,” he mumbled, words blurring together. 

Derek froze, “Why?” 

Stiles made another flopping gesture with his non-damaged hand, “M’gross. Got spider guts everywhere. Gonna get your bed all dirty.” 

Derek relaxed and shook his head, looking fondly exasperated, “I can get new sheets, Stiles.” 

Stiles hummed and tried to shrug, his face pulling into a wince. Derek’s face went back to being worried. He drained Stiles’ pain and brushed his hair out of his eyes, big hands warm. 

Stiles pushed back into the touch, sighing as his hurt was replaced with a light, bubbly feeling. 

“Tell me where it hurts,” Derek said softly. 

Stiles recounted his injuries to him: bloody slashes and tears across his torso, twisted ankle, sprained wrist, possible concussion. 

Derek frowned deeply, “Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve came and gotten you.” 

Stiles made a face, “Lost my phone.” 

Derek nodded, “We can find it later.” 

The alpha tore off Stiles’ ripped shirt in long, blood-stained strips, easing the fabric off damaged skin. Stiles hissed as his wounds were exposed, grabbing at Derek’s shoulder. Derek threw the remains of the shirt in a pile and took cotton balls, gauze and disinfectant from the kit. 

He guided Stiles’ fingers to the collar of his shirt, tucking them around it gently. 

“You can squeeze if it’s too much,” he explained. 

Stiles tightened his grip and smiled deliriously to himself-- this was a fantastic idea, Derek was so smart. 

Derek gently dragged the pad of his index fingers along the edges of the cuts on his torso, leeching pain as he went. 

“These are probably going to need stitches, Stiles. Do you want me to take you to the hospital? Melissa’s not on shift tonight but we can make something work.” 

Stiles shook his head vigorously, pulling a face when his head attempted to split in two when he moved. 

“No,” he grumbled. “Y’can do it. I trust you, Der.” 

Derek blinked at him before nodding to himself and getting to work, cleaning the needle and using it to slide the thread through Stiles’ tender flesh. He stole his pain simultaneously, keeping Stiles numb and floaty as he pieced him together. His work was pretty basic, but Stiles' spark would do the rest. 

When he was finished with the stitches, he bandaged over them. He did his best to tend to the rest of Stiles’ injuries, and peeled his clenched fingers away from his collar when he was finished. 

He gave Stiles’ hand a gentle squeeze and disappeared for a moment, returning with water, pain medication and a wet washcloth. 

Derek had him sit up enough to drink the water and take the pills. He wiped down Stiles’ face, his neck and shoulders, his arms, his hand, his chest where he could. 

Stiles’ eyes drooped. 

“Hey, no, pup. You have to stay up until I’m sure you don’t have a concussion.” 

“I don’ have one,” Stiles grumbled. “I can tell.” 

Derek looked at him dubiously, “How can you _tell_?” 

Stiles weakly waggled his fingers, “Magic.” 

“I’m supposed to trust that you don’t have irreparable brain damage because ‘ _magic_ ’?” 

Stiles hummed his confirmation, giggling a little at Derek’s incredulous expression. He winced after it shook his chest, but the soft look on Derek’s face was well worth it. 

He reached out with trembling fingers, tracing them lightly over Derek’s cheekbone. 

“You’ve got pretty eyes,” he murmured, a bit drunk off of Derek leeching his pain. 

The wolf didn’t hide his surprise very well. 

He gently grasped Stiles’ fingers in his own, squeezing them lightly before setting Stiles’ hand in his lap. 

He rose, snagging an over-sized shirt and a pair of sweatpants from his dresser. 

Derek helped Stiles dress, slowly and patiently. 

Then, he set Stiles up in his own bed.

“Don’t go,” Stiles mumbled, catching his wrist when he turned to leave. 

Derek pursed his lips, doubtful, before nodding. He stripped off his bloody sweater, gave himself a cursory wipe-down with the rag he’d carefully cleaned Stiles with, and tugged on a pair of pajama bottoms. 

He crawled in beside Stiles, pulling the blankets up and over both of them, before sticking his feet out from the bottom of them. 

Stiles snorted sleepily, moving closer to the wolf, “You absolute heathen.” 

Derek rolled his eyes, and gingerly allowed Stiles into his space, letting him use his shoulder as a pillow as he dozed off. 

“Night, Der,” Stiles yawned. 

“Goodnight, Stiles,” he replied. 

And if they woke up to Stiles’ back pressed to Derek’s chest, and Derek’s nose buried in Stiles’ hair, like it was the easiest thing they’d ever done, it was no one’s business but their own. 


	2. I Ain't Scared Of You No More (100 Bad Days)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title is from "100 Bad Days" by AJR.   
> Full disclosure, all of the chapter titles are AJR. Sorry not sorry.

Derek hissed in frustration, looking over his shoulder and using a mirror to dab gingerly at tender wounds. 

Needless to say, he was doing a sorry job of cleaning himself up. 

He  _ hated _ back injuries. 

The loft door slid open, and he tensed until the familiar rabbit-pace staccato of Stiles’ heartbeat hit his sensitive ears. He swallowed another noise as he hit a particularly sore spot of his afflictions. 

“Der? You home?” he heard Stiles ask. 

Derek’s wolf purred as Stiles’ dependable, lovely scent reached his nose, pleasant and safe. 

“I’m in my room,” Derek called to him, continuing to dab at his back.

Stiles walked up and went to carefully step into the threshold of the alpha’s den but rushed frantically at the sight of Derek’s mangled skin in the mirror. 

“Derek, your back,” Stiles said, eyes wide. 

Fear and concern flooded his smell, turning it sour. 

“It’s fine, I’m fine, Stiles--” he went to claim but was interrupted by the boy kneeling behind him and snatching the washcloth from his shaking fingers. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me, idiot. How did this even happen?” 

Derek choked on a smart reply as Stiles mopped the grime away from the parts he was missing. 

“I’m not sure what it was,” he replied finally. “It kinda looked like our beta shifts, but it had longer claws. And a tail.” 

Stiles hummed, “I’ll figure it out when you’re better.” 

“I’m fine, Stiles. You don’t have to-” 

Stiles snorted, “Bold of you to assume I do _anything_ I don’t want to, Der. I want to help you, alright? Let me.” 

Derek shut his mouth, teeth clicking. Warmth sank into his chest, heavy and sweet like honey as Stiles’ scent clouded his nose and his space. 

When Stiles was finished cleaning Derek’s wounds, he moved on to wipe off his shoulders and arms, careful and tender. He was adorably focused, eyes narrowed in concentration. 

Derek watched him work, in wonder. 

How long had it been since someone wanted to take care of him without expecting something in return? 

Too long. 

His wolf curled up behind his ribs, rumbling its satisfaction at having who it considered to be Derek’s mate so close for so long. 

Derek shook himself out of his head when Stiles finished. He took the washcloth and threw it into Derek’s sink, rinsing out the blood and the dirt from the fabric. 

He watched sleepily as Stiles rifled through his dresser, pulling out clothes for him to change into. 

“Get changed,” he said, handing Derek the bundle of clothing, and cupping the side of his face to guide his gaze up so that he met Stiles’ eyes. “I’m getting you some water, and something to eat. Don’t fall asleep.” 

Derek hummed and nuzzled Stiles’ palm, almost unconsciously. A burst of Stiles’ scent filled his lungs, stubbornly claiming him for its own. 

“Get changed, Der,” he repeated as he pulled away. 

Derek kept an ear on Stiles’ heartbeat as he stripped out of his torn, bloody jeans and shoes. He listened to him stumble about the kitchen as he gathered snacks and water, smiling as the boy cursed his own clumsiness. 

His healing was catching up with him, making his eyelids droop heavily as he tugged the shirt over his head and onto his torso. 

He was starting to doze off sitting up when Stiles came back. Derek stirred when a warm palm cradled his jaw, long fingers brushing his throat as Stiles guided a water bottle to his lips. He drank in long pulls, dehydration fading as he quickly drained the bottle. 

He gave half of a whine when Stiles pulled the bottle away. He carded his fingers gently through the alpha’s hair, smiling softly.

“Shh, you’re okay, Der. I’ll give you more later.” 

“Okay,” Derek mumbled. 

He let Stiles feed him bits of a protein bar. It was dry and tasteless on his tongue, but he was willing to stomach it to make Stiles happy. 

He liked it when Stiles was happy, when his cinnamon and storms scent burst into the room with his joy. 

He slumped forward when Stiles was done, leaning his forehead against Stiles’ stomach. Derek purred when Stiles continued to tenderly play his hair, and stroke the skin of his face and neck. 

He checked once more to make sure the wounds on Derek’s back were actually healing- which they were- before he deemed it okay for Derek to sleep. 

Stiles helped him under his blankets, fussing over the covers until he was satisfied. Derek immediately started to crash, but startled a little when Stiles slid in front of him, shirt and shoes gone. 

“You’ll heal faster with pack around. Especially me-- I can use my magic to help you,” Stiles whispered, which yeah, that was a totally logical way of thinking about it. 

Derek’s traitorous heart hoped desperately it wasn’t the  _ only  _ reason, beating strongly and quickly in his chest like a drum. 

Hoped that maybe Stiles  _ wanted _ to stay because he  _ felt _ what Derek did. 

He tucked his face into the back of Stiles’ neck as he fell asleep, letting the sound of his pulse and the warmth of his skin consume him. His wolf reveled in it, in the scent of  _ anchor _ and _ pack _ and  _ mate _ . 

It was easier than it probably should’ve been. 

***

When Derek woke up, he was alone. The sheets next to him were cold. 

He choked down the ache in his chest, and the hurt in his heart, ignoring it as best as he could. 

He dressed quickly, slipping on a sweatshirt and a pair of workout pants, ready to run his ass off through the preserve until his wolf was too exhausted to howl its misery. Until he was too tired to feel anything but the pull in his muscles and the burn in his lungs. 

But then he heard the singing in the kitchen. 

It was quiet, and more mumbling than anything, but his heart stopped beating for a moment when he realized what it was-- Stiles, still in his den, in his space, cooking and murmuring some random tune under his breath as he did so. 

He padded out of his room and into the open space of the loft. 

Stiles smiled brightly at him, “Hey, big guy. You’re looking a lot better.” He held up a plate of eggs and bacon, “I made breakfast.” 

When they sat down to eat, Stiles recounted some evidently  _ hilarious _ story about school, but Derek wasn’t really paying attention. 

He was too busy  _ panicking _ at the fact that he was head-over-heels, fall-down-on-his-ass in  _ love _ with the boy in front of him. 

_Fuck_ his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What'd you guys think?   
> \- Sins


	3. Watch Me Standing In Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from "Burn The House Down" by AJR.

Stiles doubled over as the hunter yanked the knife out of his gut, twisting cruelly. 

He quickly clamped both his hands over the wound as he stumbled back into one of the abandoned warehouse’s many crates. 

It held his weight as he heavily slid down it. 

He could feel his blood- wet between his fingers- as it leaked out from under his hands, flowing out of him. 

He hated getting stabbed-- even though his Spark healed most of the fatal damage relatively quickly, it could be weeks before his body stopped hurting when he moved. His vision was splattered with black dots, which prevented him from really seeing the fight was going-- not that he’d be able to focus and help at all anyways. 

Not when his entire being was throbbing in time with his heartbeat. 

“Stiles!” he heard his name yelled and attempted to call back, but regretted it when his head and chest protested the effort. 

Derek slid onto his knees in front of him-- beta shift receding even though his concerned eyes still burned alpha rose. 

“Hey, Der,” he croaked. “M’bleeding.” 

He looked down at Stiles’ hands and choked. 

“Let me see, _let me see_ ,” he demanded. 

Stiles shook his head and more spots pockmarked his vision like bullet holes, “S’not a good idea.” 

“It’ll be okay, Stiles-- just let me see.” 

Derek’s eyes faded to green, wide and pleading. Stiles- swallowing- obliged, baring the steadily bleeding hole in his middle as he let his bloody hands fall gracelessly to his sides. 

“Oh, Stiles,” Derek murmured. 

He used his claws to slice a strip of his own shirt off, pressing it firmly over the wound to staunch the bleeding. Stiles whined and threw his head back, eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

“Shh, I know, pup, I know. I’m gonna get you to the hospital, okay?” 

“No, no hospitals,” Stiles slurred. “M’healing. M’spark s’kicking in.” 

Derek frowned, “I’m not going to let you bleed out because we might have to cover up how fast you’re healing.” 

Stiles shook his head, already able to feel his insides stitching themselves back together better than any surgeon could. 

“M’not gonna. Already healing. Just need you,” he argued weakly. 

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed as he set a warm hand on Stiles’ face, leeching his pain. 

Stiles relaxed as the light warmth flooded his chest. 

“Mm. Not what I meant but s’nice.” 

Derek’s face became unreadable. 

“I’m going to take you home, alright?” 

“To the den,” Stiles murmured. 

Derek nodded, and smiled at Stiles with his eyebrows. 

“To the den,” he corrected. 

Stiles waited as Derek turned and gave clean-up orders to the others, studying the black veins traveling sluggishly up his arm. He faced Stiles again and scooped him up smoothly, the sting of movement quickly fading. 

He gently loaded Stiles into the Camaro and drove them to the loft swiftly. 

Stiles graciously ignored the broken traffic laws and reckless driving in favor of being home. 

Derek carried him up to the loft and into his own room, kicking the door shut behind them.

He first laid a towel down over his sheets, and then set Stiles on top of it. He sliced the boy’s shirt open neatly with his claws-- something Stiles might’ve been upset about if it hadn’t already been ruined by the blood and the huge fucking hole in the fabric. 

Damn hunters ruining his shirts. 

Derek momentarily disappeared, returning with the first aid kit Stiles knew he kept under the sink in the kitchen for the human members in the pack, himself included. 

Stiles watched him blearily, his vision still soft and dark around the edges. 

He didn’t appear to be actively bleeding anymore, but there was still a gaping wound to deal with. 

“Should I stitch this?” Derek asked, kneeling next Stiles and carding his sweaty hair away from his face. 

Stiles shook his head, and winced when it made his vision tilt for a second. 

“No, no stitches. Needs to be cleaned though. I don’ know if my spark fights infection like the Bite does.” 

“Okay,” Derek murmured, and disappeared momentarily. He returned with a bottle of medical disinfectant and a damp washcloth. 

He was gentle as he wiped the blood away from Stiles’ abdomen with the washcloth, humming when it only bled a little bit from the motion. 

“This’ll sting,” he warned Stiles. 

Stiles nodded, leaning his head back so he could stare at the ceiling. 

He would’ve jackknifed when the bite of antiseptic hit him, but Derek set a strong arm down on his torso and prevented him from moving. 

Stiles whined miserably as Derek pulled the pain. 

“Hold still, pup. I know, I’m sorry-- I know it hurts but you have to stay still.” 

Derek continued to clean his wound and steal the sting while Stiles choked down little noises of pain and faded in and out of direct consciousness. Finally, Derek went back over it all with the washcloth, movements tender and careful, and taped a pad of gauze over the closing injury. 

“Hey, it’s all done. You’re okay now,” he whispered, and stroked a thumb over Stiles’ cheekbone. 

Stiles hummed and leaned into the touch, a little delirious from all the magic his body was using to heal him, and from the effects of Derek’s pain-sucking ability. 

“Can I stay the night?” he mumbled out, cracking an eye open to watch Derek’s face, which remained impassive. 

“Yeah, that’s fine. Should I…?” Derek trailed off, seemingly unsure. 

“You should stay with me,” Stiles supplied. “I mean, if you want?”

Derek nodded, quiet as he stripped off his own shirt. He laid gingerly at Stiles’ side, careful of his wound. 

“It’s okay, Der,” he whispered, and turned his face to press a kiss to Derek’s forehead. The alpha stared at him, eyes wide, and he pulled away a bit, awkward. 

He wasn’t expecting _that_ reaction, but then again, this was _Derek Hale_ — an hotter-than-the-sun, could-get-much-better-than-his-scrawny-ass alpha werewolf. He was probably _way_ off with his feelings. 

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut against his own self-disgust and fell asleep. 


	4. Can I Lie Here Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title is from "Karma" by AJR.

Derek ducked, narrowly avoiding the omega’s claws. 

They had been fighting for a long while, and even though Derek was obviously in much better control and appeared to also have a fighting advantage, the stranger was fucking _determined._

It was wearing him down. 

He slid around another hit, and countered effectively, knocking the omega off balance. She came back at him much quicker than he expected, snarling as she sank her jagged claws into the skin of his front and ripped down. His skin torn raggedly, leaving him howling in pain. 

Stiles- who was the only one with him, as they had gone out on what should have been an easy and routine patrol- charged her as Derek stumbled away and fell, his bat connecting with a sickening crunch against her face. She collapsed to the ground, a sizable dent in her skull. 

She wouldn’t be down for long. 

Stiles rounded, the purple fading from his irises as he ran to Derek, worry evident in his pulse, “ _Derek_! Derek, are you okay?” 

He slid onto the ground beside him, and slid an arm under his body, cradling his shoulders and head in his lap. 

His fingers shook as he gently prodded at one of the claw marks.

Derek hissed in pain, attempting to shy away. 

“ _Shit_. Der, hold on, I need to make sure you’re healing.” 

He watched, detached, as Stiles checked over his skin, staining the tips of his fingers red with Derek’s blood. He buried his face into Stiles’ stomach, basking in the comfort of his smell. 

Stiles made a call on his phone that Derek didn’t pay attention to. 

“Hey, big guy, you still with me?” 

Derek hummed an affirmation, and Stiles ran his fingers through his hair. 

“How bad is it?” he slurred. 

“Bad enough that we’re not staying to hang out. Chris is coming soon to deal with her. I’m taking you home, okay?” 

Even though he didn’t really give Stiles a response- it probably looked more like an awkward shrug than a nod- and wasn’t going to be conscious and awake enough to help him get Derek there, Stiles seemed to understand. 

He pushed Derek up into a sitting position, and slowly coaxed him to his feet, sliding his arm around Derek’s waist as he walked him to his car. He stole Derek’s keys from his pocket, and drove them home in the silence, the streetlights blurring in Derek’s vision as they passed them. 

Stiles somehow got Derek up into the loft and to his den with minor aggravation of his existing injuries-- no doubt with some aid from his magic. 

Stiles had him lean against the wall as he snagged a towel- one of the ones which had already been used for someone’s injuries and was bloodstained as a result- and laid it out on his sheets. Derek settled onto it heavily, the energy burn from his healing factor and the blood loss making his head foggy and his body tired. 

Stiles cleaned the blood and dirt from his skin painstakingly with the corner of a washcloth, his big brown doe eyes focused and narrowed. He finished by wiping the omega’s blood out from underneath Derek’s fingernails, and wiping the sweat from his face. 

Derek leaned into the hand holding his face still, eyes half-closed as his mind drifted. 

“You scared me so bad,” Stiles whispered, dragging everything back into focus. “There was so much blood. I thought you were _dead_ for a second.” 

Derek gave a half-hearted snort, “S’not like it’s stuck before. M’ fine, Stiles.” 

Stiles huffed, irritable and upset, “Don’t tell me you’re fine when I just had to yank one of her claws out of your chest. I thought you were going to _die_ , Derek.” 

Derek frowned blearily at Stiles’ distress, “I can’t die. I wouldn’t leave you behind like that.” 

Stiles choked on a wet laugh, wiping tears from his eyes, “You’re gonna stick with me by sheer force of will, big bad?” 

Derek hummed, because, yeah, staying was his intention. 

Stiles smiled a little, and held the alpha’s hand until sleep dragged him under. 

He dreamed of amber eyes and the pull of the moon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me in the comments!


	5. I Am One Minute Old Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from "Birthday Party" by AJR.  
> Sorry in advance for any grammar mistakes.

If running through the preserve like mad because some unknown creature thought you would be a nummy treat was a sport, Stiles would probably be able to go pro. 

He banked left, elation rushing into his heaving chest when the beast kept going forward. 

It apparently wasn’t that bright. 

He sprinted on into the night, hoping to lose it completely. 

He was going pretty good, until his foot caught a root and wrenched him out of motion, sending him tumbling down the slope. 

Stiles cursed loudly when his back hit a tree with bruising force, bringing his rapid descent to a sudden stop. He froze and listened to the unbroken quiet of the woods for a moment until he decided he had indeed lost his assailant. 

He rotated his ankle gingerly, wincing and hissing at the stiff soreness and throbbing ache. 

Definitely sprained it. 

Stiles attempted to haul himself to his feet and groaned in both exasperation and pain when he couldn’t make it. Walking back wasn’t an option. 

He thumbed through his contacts on his phone- which has miraculously survived the fall- and dialed for Scott. He frowned and bit his lip when he didn’t answer. He called Scott twice more and then his dad once, huffing irritably when neither of them responded. 

Frustration and pain made his blood boil, preventing him from focusing enough to utilize his Spark. 

Finally, he called Derek, desperately hoping that he wasn’t busy. 

He picked up on the first ring. 

“ _Stiles? What’s wrong?_ ” 

“Hey, Der,” he greeted meekly. “So, I really hope you’re not busy right now. I’m really sorry if you are. Am I interrupting something? Oh, god, please tell me you’re not like on a date right now. Are you? I’m so sorr-” 

Derek cut off his anxious rambling, “ _Stiles. Hey, breathe, alright? I’m not busy; you’re okay. Tell me what’s going on_.”

Stiles took a steadying breath, holding the air in his lungs for a moment before blowing it out. 

“I was on a run in the preserve,” he began. “I just had some extra time to burn and was gonna stop by your place after to see if you’d had dinner yet. This _thing_ started chasing me. I lost it pretty quickly, but I fell down a hill and sprained my ankle.” 

He paused. 

“Can you come get me?” he asked, voice small. “No one else picked up.” 

Stiles could hear movement and ruffling on the other line.

“ _God, of course I’m coming for you, Stiles. I’m not just going to_ leave _you out there._ ” 

More shuffling, presumably from Derek getting ready to leave. 

“ _I need you to give me five minutes and then you need to yell for me, okay, Stiles? It’ll help me find you faster._ ”

Stiles wrapped an arm around himself, “Okay.” 

“ _Five minutes. I’ll find you._ ” Derek hung up. 

Stiles set a timer on his phone, numb fingers moving clumsily across the screen as shiver wracked his lithe frame. He watched the clouds his breath made as they dissipated in front of him. 

His phone chirped-- Derek’s five minutes were up. 

He listened for a moment to the forest’s quiet melody before shattering the peace with a shout of “ _Derek_!” 

He waited for a few moments. 

Nothing. 

He tried again, “Derek! I’m over here!” 

He huffed at the answering silence, “I’m gonna be so pissed if I die out here.” 

“Derek!” he yelled, struggling to focus enough to push his will into his voice, forcing his magic to work. 

He jumped when the alpha burst through the trees to his right. 

“Der?” 

“Stiles,” he breathed. He cupped Stiles’ face in his hands, glowing eyes filled with worry. 

Stiles cracked a weak smile, “Hey, big bad. Think you can carry me?” 

Derek huffed fondly, thumbs dragging over Stiles’ cheekbones. 

“Jesus, you’re cold,” he said and slid off his jacket to wrap it around Stiles’ shoulders. “You want to go to the den or your house?” 

“The den,” Stiles answered quickly and flushed. 

Derek smiled a little, the moon bouncing off the tips of his canines, “Okay. I’m gonna pick you up, alright?” 

Stiles nodded. Derek slid one arm around his shoulders, and the other under his knees, hauling him up like he weighed next to nothing. He was careful to avoid jarring Stiles’ ankle. 

“I had Boyd come with me. He can drive your Jeep back to the loft,” Derek said. 

Stiles hummed his consent, “My keys are in my pocket-- I’ll give them to him when we get up there.” 

Finally, they made it to the end of the trail, where Boyd was silently waiting. Stiles passed him his keys, and let Derek help him gently into the Camaro. 

The drive home was dead silent, and Stiles could tell something was wrong. 

Derek half-carried him up to the den. He had him sit on the couch and prop his leg up on the coffee table. Derek gingerly prodded his ankle, frowning deeply at the swelling. He set Stiles up with an ice-pack, without saying a word. 

“What’s wrong, Der?” he asked finally. 

The alpha sighed heavily, dragging a hand over his face. He looked tired, and worn. It made Stiles _ache_. 

“I just- I just hate it when you get hurt. I hate it when I can’t protect you like I should be able to.” 

“Derek, there’s nothing you could’ve done-” 

“I could’ve gone with you, if I would’ve known. Or told you not to go running in the preserve at night like an idiot.” 

“Well, neither of those are your _fault_ , Der. It’s not your fault.” 

Derek didn’t say anything, and kept his face blank. 

Stiles bit his lip, chest clenching when Derek’s expression didn’t change, even after he tried to assure him again when he was settling down with Stiles on the couch that it wasn’t his fault.

“C’mere, Guiltywolf, I want cuddles,” Stiles mumbled sleepily and made grabby-hands at Derek. Derek gave him a sort of half-smile, the right edge of his mouth curling upward and his eyes filling warmly with an emotion Stiles couldn’t name if he tried. 

Derek let himself be pulled down so he was laying his head in Stiles’ lap, the boy’s long, pale fingers buried into his hair like they belonged there. Stiles kinda had a thing for how soft Derek’s hair was, and was pretty obsessed with playing with it whenever he got the chance.

Derek never complained or pushed him away, only purred contentedly- a low, quiet rumble which moved itself into Stiles’ own chest from Derek’s- until he was done, so Stiles assumed he was okay with it. 

Stiles queued up one of the shows they had been watching on Netflix, even though he knew Derek wasn’t much a TV person, the alpha let him. At some point, he carefully flipped himself over, so that he was no longer facing the TV, but had his face in Stiles’ t-shirt instead. 

It used to make Stiles worry a little, having an apex predator’s teeth so close to his soft spots, but not anymore. He didn’t mind it at all, and he figured Derek liked the smell of pack he carried, and so he simply waited for him to settle, and went back to playing with his hair. 

He could feel the moment Derek dropped off into sleep, the purr tapering off and his breath evening out as his posture sagged. Stiles smiled, completely gone on him, and traced a thumb under his eye, along his cheekbone sweetly. 

A few minutes later, Boyd walked out from the betas’ portion of the oft, and raised an eyebrow at them. 

“Is he asleep?” he whispered, looking vaguely shocked. 

“Yeah, he passed out a few minutes ago. Why?” Stiles asked. 

Boyd huffed a little, like he was having to explain something easy to understand to a small child, “He _never_ sleeps outside his room. _Never_. Says it doesn’t feel safe enough unless he’s in his own space, unless he’s home.” 

Stiles stared down at Derek in absolute wonder, before looking back up at Boyd, eyes wide, “Oh, god, we’re idiots, aren’t we?” 

Boyd smirked a little, “You said it, not me.” 

Stiles dragged a hand down his face because _how did neither of them see this_ and returned Boyd’s goodnight when he returned to his room, a handful of gummy bears with him. 

He focused back onto Derek, smiling at the wolf’s features made gentle by sleep. 

“We’ve got shit to discuss in the morning, Sourwolf.” 


	6. What If I Come Back Home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter, everybody-- we made it!  
> The title is from "Don't Throw Out My Legos" by AJR

Derek woke up with the sun. 

He stretched, joints popping and muscles pulling sorely. 

And then, he realized he wasn’t in his bed. 

He panicked for a moment, before the smell of _mate_ flooded his senses. He pulled his nose away from Stiles and looked up at him. His head was tilted back and resting on the top of the couch, mouth open, the long pale column of his neck bared. 

Derek swallowed, and sat up as quietly and carefully as he could, nerves stealing the last bit of sleep left in his body. 

He smiled a little, at Stiles’ absolutely ridiculous sleeping position, and threw one of the blankets over him. He winced a bit when he noticed he’d let them both sleep in their dirty, sweaty clothes, but figured he could have Stiles clean up when he awoke. 

He snagged a water from the fridge, drinking the whole thing before getting into the shower. He was fast and perfunctory, not wanting to leave Stiles alone. Logically, he knew the betas were also home, but his wolf snapped at him irritably when he tried to use that as an excuse to bail himself out from his feelings and leave. 

He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and walked out into the cool air of the loft, drying his hair and shoulders haphazardly with a towel before tossing it into his laundry basket. 

Stiles stared at him from his bed. 

“How’s your ankle?” Derek asked. 

Stiles shrugged, “It feels better. The spark works quicker when I sleep I guess.” 

Derek hummed, and pulled a shirt out of his dresser, dragging it on. He could still feel Stiles’ honey-brown gaze boring into him, like a brand on his skin. 

“We need to talk,” Stiles said. 

Derek felt panic and dread crawl into his chest-- this was it, this was where Stiles would figure out how he felt for him and would throw him away in disgust just like every other romantic partner he’d had, this was where-- Stiles walked up to him, cutting off his self-destructive train of thought. 

“Hey, big guy, it’s nothing bad, I swear. Just important that we talk about it so I know where you stand on it.” 

Derek frowned, and really hoped they weren’t about to have a political discussion because he hadn’t paid attention to that shit in years, letting himself be tugged over to his bed and sat down. 

Stiles took one of Derek’s hands in both of his, like he needed a life-line, like he needed support. 

Derek gave his fingers a squeeze, and looked up at him expectantly, listening to his pulse race. 

“I’m in love with you,” Stiles finally blurted out. 

Derek froze, “ _What_?” 

Stiles huffed out a little laugh, “I am completely, totally, fall-on-my-ass _in love_ with you. I wanted to tell you.” 

Derek struggled, because _no,_ he couldn’t be, Derek _ruined_ everything he ever loved and no matter how he felt, he wouldn’t _let himself hurt him._ He’d _die_ first. 

“ _How,_ Stiles?” He finally asked. “You _know_ me, you _know_ what happens to the people I care about. _I_ know what happens to the people I care about-- why would I ever put you through that?” 

“Oh, Sourwolf.” He said fondly, and brought up Derek’s hand to his mouth to lay a path of kisses along his knuckles. “You don’t know you like I do, Der.” 

Derek blinked. 

“You think you’re so much worse than you are. But in reality? I _know_ you’re a good person. Like deep down good. Or else you wouldn’t have bitten Isaac, or Erica, or Boyd. You wouldn’t have given them a home. You wouldn’t be helping me try to tame my spark. You wouldn’t be dragging my sorry ass here every time I’m dying to fix me up. I wouldn’t be able to _fall asleep_ next to you if I didn’t absolutely trust you with my life, Der, and you know what? I do. Hell, I almost trust you with it more than me because I _know_ you’ll treat it better.” 

He smiled, and released Derek’s hand to cup his cheek, “ _I love you,_ okay? And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay, I just need to kno--” 

Derek threw himself forward, cutting him off with a kiss. Stiles tangled his fingers into his hair as Derek cradled the back of his neck. 

Derek’s wolf _howled_ in his chest, absolutely smitten with the boy in front of him. 

“If it wasn’t already obvious, I love you too,” Derek murmured against Stiles’ mouth, nipping at his lips. 

Stiles grinned cheekily against his own, “Oh, it was. I just wanted to hear you say it.” 

Derek felt warmth flood his chest and belly, and he growled playfully as he tackled Stiles, pinning him to his sheets and swallowing the yelp of surprise he let out. 

(The monstrous hickey he left on the side of Stiles’ throat was worth the unimpressed looks Boyd gave him for the next week).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished my first chapter fic! Yay!  
> I almost can't believe because this sucker took me two months of struggling with writer's block to get done.  
> Come tell me what you think in the comments!  
> \- Sins

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, comments and kudos are always appreciated. I hope everybody enjoyed!  
> \- Sins
> 
> Find my Tumblr at:   
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/iwritesinsnotstraightlines


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